Precious Illusions
by RuthieTudor
Summary: Based on the show Jonathan Creek. Genny, an American investigative reporter, is assigned to find out more about one Jonathan Creek but now her past is coming back to haunt her. Will Jonathan be able to help her?
1. One

A/N: Please review on here or on the website for this story (Listed on my bio.)

Disclaimer: I don't own Jonathan Creek the show. I do own Genevieve Marston and her boss, Martin. Please don't use them without permission.

* * *

'Genny?' It was my boss, Martin's, voice but I couldn't see him anywhere, 'Genny, you have _got_ to clear away some of this rubbish!' I moved away a mountain of papers and there he stood, hands on his hips, glaring at me through thick, soda bottle glasses that never made their way out of the seventies.

'Hi, Martin. Have a good lunch meeting?' I knew the answer to the question but decided to ask it anyway, pulling my glasses off in one swift movement and running a sore left hand through my wild dark brown hair.

'You Americans, you have no tact! No, I did _not_ have a good lunch meeting! We're losing money, Genny, faster than you can make it.' He crossed his giant arms over his giant chest and his imposing figure would send any normal woman running for the hills. Good thing I wasn't a normal woman.

'Thanks for that shimmering compliment, Martin. What can I do for you?' Sarcasm was causing the air between us to thicken by the minute and Martin's brow was dropping at an equal rate.

He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and dropped it on my desk, 'I want you to find out everything you can about this guy. Go find him and meet him. Proposition him if you have to.' I glared at him disgustedly and he glared right back, there was no getting out of this, 'Do your job, Genny.' Martin started to move away and I wanted to jump up to argue.

I looked down at the slip of paper in my hand but didn't recognize the name. _Jonathan Creek_ was all that was written there. It was written in a loopy script that clearly wasn't my employer's and I wondered who had given him the tip off for the story.

I sat back in my chair and relaxed for a moment, slipping my feet into my abandoned shoes and gnawing on my lip. I hadn't done any good investigative reporting in a year or so. I'd been stuck behind this desk since I'd moved to England after the, amply named, 'incident'. I couldn't help but wonder why I'd been given this job. It wasn't for my brazen good looks, of which I had none. I wasn't awful looking, I was just average looking.

I stood about five foot five on a good day and my most obvious feature was probably my dark brown hair which most people assumed was black. When I was a child, I used to yell at the other kids for telling me my hair was black. I wasn't skinny, but I wasn't fat either. I was just plain average. Maybe that was why they picked me. Average was this Jonathan Creek's thing.

'Stop fannying about, Genny Marston, and get to work!' Martin slammed his office door before I could get a good look but I knew he was the one that was yelling at me to get to work. He was in a hurry to find out about this Creek character. I couldn't lie, my curiosity had been piqued too.

The lights in the office were dim and my eyes were burning from staring at the computer screen for so long but I couldn't bring myself to look away. I didn't really understand why I couldn't stop reading. It wasn't as if this Creek character had a sordid past or anything. He seemed to be a perfectly respectable magician's consultant who did some work solving mysteries on the side.

Okay, so the mystery part was a little on the shifty side but after reading as much as I had about this guy, I was sure he was all bread and butter. I couldn't imagine what Martin had wanted me to uncover. Though, if it was something scandalous, it wouldn't be uncovered through the internet.

It was deadline the next day, of course, so many of the other reporters were still tapping away at their keyboards. They were oblivious to me and my manilla folder, sashaying around them to Martin's closed office door. His light was still on so I could only assume he was still in his office at twelve-thirty at night.

I knocked twice but didn't wait for a response. Instead, I simply stuck my head in the door and tried to look chipper, "Having a super night, Martin?" He hated it when I was chipper.

He glared up at me from a stack of papers and I could practically feel the waves of hatred. This was almost fun.

"What do you want, Marston?" He looked back down at the papers and started sifting through them again. I took that as a sign that I could enter and did so, closing the door behind me and holding out the folder.

"Everything I found on that Creek fellow. He's interesting. Sounds like the guy to take on a date. At least, he wouldn't be boring." I was babbling on because Martin was staring me down with a look on his face that resembled a dead fish.

"How long have you been at this?" He flipped through the file and his eyebrows got progressively higher. I worried they might fall off.

"Since you gave me the assignment. I would have quit hours ago and gone home but he really is interesting. Plus with those books he co-wrote-" I was going on and on, watching his eyebrows and the vein in his forehead.

He looked up and me and scowled for a moment, like he was sizing me up, trying to figure out if I was good enough, "You got all his contact information?"

It was totally unspoken. If it wasn't on the internet, I was to go through any authority I could, pull any string I needed to, in order to get in touch with him.

"Well, I know where he works. I can get a hold of his boss. I think I have an idea of how to get my hands on him, yeah." Martin slammed the folder shut in the middle of my 'yeah' and it made me jump.

"I want you to get close to him. Find out every detail you can – undercover. You'll report everything back to me. Got it?" He stood up and handed the folder back to me, "I trust you've done jobs like this before."

"Well-" My answer was something akin to 'not exactly', but he wouldn't let me get that far.

"There's nothing to it. Now go home and get a good night's sleep. You have a magician to meet with tomorrow." He pushed me out of his office and slammed the door.

I felt like I'd just come out of a whirlwind. After all that had happened back in the US, I was told I'd be suspended from outside casework for up to three years. It had only been one and here I was, out on the job again.

I walked back to my desk and packed up my things, deciding to take Martin's advice and go home for the night. He was right, after all, I did need my sleep.

I lived in a flat on the other side of town with my goldfish, Harry, and a box of photos that was taped shut and never opened. Of course, I had a lot more in the way of physical possessions, but the fish and the photos were all that I'd save in the case of a fire. My door was always double locked and my passport was kept in another city. No, I wasn't paranoid at all.

I entered my flat and locked the door behind me, flipping on lights and calling out an absent hello to Harry, who didn't respond. I wondered if I should get a dog just so I could get a hello every once in a while. Maybe _that's_ why people got married. I checked my answering machine but it was empty, as usual. I didn't have any friends here and I didn't have any friends in America, so who would be calling me?

Sitting in the kitchen and eating a banana was the only thing I could think to do. I pulled the file out of my backpack and flipped it open, absently looking at the picture of this Jonathan Creek. He looked like he could use a couple of runs through charm school. I wondered if that _was_ his charm. Maybe women were attracted to the fact that he looked like a puppy that desperately needed a bath and a scratch behind the ears. The photo was of him and another man at some dress up event. It was a press photo but Jonathan wasn't smiling. I looked at the second photo I had, one of Jonathan and his co-author, Madeline, and again he wasn't smiling. I wondered if he had a weird aversion to happiness or if he was just one of those stoic fellows who didn't get out much.

I finished my banana and threw away the peel, running through my nightly agenda and getting ready for bed. There was no sense in staying up past my bedtime. I made a note to call the theater the next day to see if Mr. Creek was going to be there and to see if I could set up an appointment to see Mr. Klaus, the magician in charge. I felt bad for using Adam Klaus but how else was I going to get to Jonathan? I couldn't just walk up to him on the street and say hi.


	2. Two

A/N: Alright, chapter two! Please review.

Remember to check the website to see updates and to see Genny's outfits every day! It's great! Check my bio page for the link! :)

Disclaimer: I don't own Jonathan Creek, Adam Klaus, or the London Tube. I do own Genevieve Marston, the giant lady, and the three bad guys.

* * *

The second the sun hit my eyelids, I knew it was going to be a bad day. I could practically feel my hair sticking out in all directions before my eyes hit the mirror and the splotches on my face screamed, 'I enjoy making this woman's life _hell_!' Why did I even _try_?

Two hours later and I still looked as if I'd only been awake for ten minutes. I threw on some jeans, a tank top, and a jacket, angry at myself for not laying out an outfit the night before. I hoped this one would still get me in the theater on the premise that this Adam Klaus guy thought of all women as pieces of meat.

I grabbed my mobile phone and shoved the file of information on Jonathan Creek into my backpack, slinging it over my shoulder and slamming the door behind me. I jogged down the stairs at top speed. I had hoped to be out of the apartment by nine. It was nine-thirty.

I dialed the number on the back of my hand into my phone and tried to walk, talk, and come up with a cover story at the same time. This 'think on your feet' thing was hard.

"Hello?" Oh yeah, this guy sounded like the Mr. Klaus I'd read about. Of course, the American accent gave him away.

I pasted on my best British accent and tried to sound innocent, "Hello? Is this Adam Klaus? My name is Sarah Thomas. I'm a writer for Elle magazine. I was wondering if I could come in today to talk to you and your associate, Mr. – uh – Creek?"

"Oh, I don't think we're up to talking to any reporters right now. We're on a very tight schedule-"

Alright, now was the time to butter him up, Gen, "Oh, I don't think you understand, Mr. Klaus."

"Oh, I don't?" He sounded a little taken aback but I could hear the curiosity in his voice. Now turn on the alluring.

"Oh no. You see, I really look up to you and it would be such an honour to meet you. You are such a talented man." I was outside of the tube now and had to stop, this was taking too long, "You'd be surprised what I'd be willing to do to get this interview, Mr. Klaus. At least wait until you meet me to turn me away."

It was silent for a minute and I imagined his face. It made me want to laugh and I had to hold it in. Like a sneeze, it tried to force it's way out.

"Alright, Miss Thomas, come on over. We'll fit you in." Yes! I'd hit the nail on the head. This man was so easy to peg.

"Thank you so much Mr. Klaus. You won't regret it." I bought a muffin from a guy on the corner and wanted to laugh again at the irony of it all.

"I'm sure I won't. Goodbye." I snapped the phone shut and dropped it in my bag, marching into the subway and down the stairs.

The easiest part of the mission was over, now I just had to convince the smart guy that I was this Sarah Thomas girl. I was pretty sure it wasn't going to fly. First of all, my British accent wasn't exactly up to par. It wasn't hard to convince an American who was more focused on anything but what you were saying, it would be harder to convince the other guy. I was going to have to come up with something on the train, and fast.

I got down into the subway only to be greeted with people and empty space. No train in sight. I sighed and stood as close to the tracks a possible without running the risk of falling to my death when the train actually did come. I tapped my foot and checked my watch, nine-fifty. I'd be lucky to make it to that damn theatre by ten now.

I didn't live very far from the theatre but I was adverse to exercise. I owned a car when I lived in America but when I was forced to move I'd had to sell it, along with nearly everything else, in order to afford the plane ticket and the rent. If I took the subway for two stops and then walked one block, it would cut three-quarters of the walking off of my trip.

While I waited, I looked around, mildly content to study people and make unfair judgements about them. Hey, I'm only human!

The woman who had just pulled up next to me had to be at least five hundred pounds. She was wearing what resembled a tracksuit from the eighties and I wanted to say something about how it was no longer nineteen eighty nine. I held my tongue though, on the premise that she could squash me with her left hand if she wanted to. She was staring ahead, into the wall, and didn't seem to want to look anywhere else. I wondered if she was just shy.

I couldn't see much else, since I was surrounded on the left by woman and on the right by giant concrete pillar. So, in order to try to pass the time now, I tried to figure out what the horrible smell coming off the woman was. Was it rotten eggs? No, broccoli. Something green, at least.

Finally, I could hear a train coming, and it was upon us before we could prepare ourselves. The woman looked over my head and around the pillar, into the shadows, and then down at me. I looked up and her and gave her a, 'what?' sort of look. She stares at the wall the whole time and then suddenly decides to look at me? What sort of weirdo-?

There were people getting off the train but I didn't notice any of them. They were jostling us but I was too busy noticing the three huge men who had just stepped out of the shadows. Just as soon as all the people got off the train, the huge woman looked down at me one more time, nodded at the men, and shoved me into the concrete pillar.

My shoulder connected first and the shooting pain wasn't unfamiliar. I turned to grab at the woman but my head suddenly smacked into the concrete and lights flew through my line of vision. I felt the wind from the train moving and hands on me and suddenly the need to fight back.

I kicked, hard, and it connected with something soft.

Who goes to kidnap a girl and doesn't wear a cup, for God's sakes?

Another guy slapped me across the face and I felt myself falling this time. I wondered if this was me passing out or if I was actually falling. My arms were flailing, so I figured I was actually falling. I was probably falling onto the tracks. This was me, falling to my doom. I was going to burn to death on the hot metal of the subway tracks.

An arm grabbed mine and yanked, so hard it made my head spin, and pulled me away from the burning metal. Before I knew what was going on there was a person herding me to a bench and telling me that I could open my eyes, I was okay.

I cracked open one eye and was surprised to see that my vision was almost fine. The first thing I noticed was a lot of hair in my face. I thought it was mine, since I have so much, and tried to push it away.

"Hold on just a minute, you're bleeding quite a lot." Oh, that wasn't my hair.

"Oh sorry." I put my hands in my lap and wiggled my nose, trying to get the hair out of my face.

Finally the person moved away and I squinted until my vision cleared. He looked oddly familiar in a sort of 'I've seen your picture in the papers' way.

"We ought to call the police." He knelt down in front of me and pulled out his mobile phone, forcing me to panic.

"Wait! No! Don't do that." He looked up at me with a shocked look on his face. Where did I know this guy?

"Well at least let me call an ambulance or something." I shook my head and looked around. My backpack was leaning up against the pillar. Those guys hadn't robbed me? That thought made me sick to my stomach. That meant they wanted something worse.

"I just need an aspirin and some caffeine." He looked at me like I was crazy, "Will you hand me my backpack?" I pointed towards it and he did as instructed. He really was a nice guy.

"I think you might have a concussion." I pulled out a bottle of aspirin and took a couple dry, already feeling better.

I shrugged, "So I don't sleep for twelve hours. I'll go to the hospital if I get sick or something." I looked up at him, standing in front of me, and smiled, "I appreciate you saving my life and all. I mean – you know."

He smiled back and held down his hand, "Jonathan Creek."

I hadn't fainted when they'd slammed my head against the pillar or when I'd almost fallen into the subway, however, I thought I was going to faint when I heard those two words come out of his mouth. Why hadn't I figured it out? The hair, the face, the scowl. It was all textbook.

I started to take his hand and then decided mine would be better placed on my forehead, "Are you alright? You look a bit green?" He looked concerned and I started to beat myself up. This guy was one in a million. How did I not get this?

"I'm fine, sorry." I took his hand and tried to smile, also trying to convince myself that this meeting was a good thing. I didn't have to try to convince him that I was British anymore.

"I'm – um – Genny Marston." Oh lord, am I the _stupidest_ person alive? I gave him my real name? Now he can just Google me!

"Can you walk, Genny? I work just a couple of blocks from here. We can go there and get you cleaned up, at least." He pulled me up with surprising gentleness and supported me as I took a couple of steps.

"Yeah, I think I'm alright." He took my backpack from me and looped his arm under mine for support anyway and gently led me out of the tube. I couldn't believe I had run into him in the subway. What sort of sick joke was this? The fact that I had a head wound hadn't even entered my mind yet. I was still trying to work out the fact that the man I was supposed to expose to the world had just saved my life.


	3. Three

A/N: Chapter three! Please review! Don't forget to check the website listed in my bio.

Disclaimer: I don't own Jonathan, Adam, or the theatre. I do own Genny.

* * *

The walk to the theatre really wasn't too bad. My head still throbbed and now a dull ache had began to erupt in my right shoulder but I was more focused in coming up with more cover stories. I was trying to talk myself into telling the truth, or at least part of it. Would it be so bad to tell him I was a reporter? Surely he had met reporters before. Surely he knew how to handle the situation. But Martin had told me to get close to him, strike up a friendship, and forcing Jonathan to 'handle the situation' would not be striking up any kind of friendship in anyone's book.

For the time being, I decided to remain silent on the career topic. If he asked, I'd say I was a freelance writer. Isn't that what his old partner in crime used to be? I nearly snorted at that thought and had to choke it down with a gulp and a cough. Doing anything near comparing me to his old partner basically _was_ a crime.

We had made it pretty close to the theatre on small talk alone and I prided myself on my skills. I had broken the ice by asking him where he was taking me and then started him talking about magic. After that, it was lemonade.

"I work for Adam Klaus. Maybe you've heard of him." I thought for a moment, pretending to be searching my memory banks for a name. In fact, I was trying to decide whether I should know him or not. If I recognized him, then I'd have to have a story of when I saw him last or something. If I didn't, then I would have to listen to a whole description of him that I already knew. Either way, it was a toss up.

"No, I don't think I have. I haven't lived in England very long." I went with no on this one and hoped that my last sentence would segue him into asking me where I grew up or why I moved. I could make something up about that. Hell, I'd tell him the truth about where I grew up. I didn't _need _to lie about that.

I recognized the theatre, from a picture I'd seen on the internet, in the distance and my whole body tensed. I was entering foreign ground here and I was nervous as hell.

"Adam will probably be around somewhere." He paused like he wanted to ask me about my past but we were getting close, though I wasn't supposed to know, and he let it drop, "Here we are."

He steered me around to the side of the building and in through an open doorway. There were people lined up along the hallway and they all began exchanging hellos with Jonathan, who drug me along like a lost puppy. I felt like one, at least. I felt like I was intruding on sacred ground.

We stopped in front of a door with the name 'Adam Klaus' on it and my stomach hit the floor. Of course, he'd put me in a dressing room. Of course, he'd pick Adam's. He and Adam must be the best of friends.

He knocked twice but there was no answer so he turned the knob and stuck his head in. Turning back to me he tried to look comforting, "Looks all clear but you never know with Adam. Best be on your guard."

I felt my eyes widen on their own regard and he smiled sympathetically at me. He must have felt sorry for the girl he saved from being raped whom he felt the need to now take care of.

He motioned towards a chair in front of the mirror and I plopped down, groaning at my own reflection. Jonathan went off to another room and was back in a flash with a wet towel and pressure on the back of my head. I inhaled loudly and slapped him away. He sure took this nursemaid thing seriously. He even inflicted pain like a real nurse.

While he was mopping up my head, which he assured me wasn't as bad as he'd thought upon initial inspection, I pulled off my jacket in order to inspect my shoulder. The shirt under my jacket was rather small – hence why I wore the jacket with it – and when I looked up into the mirror I noticed Jonathan was looking at anything but me. He was _embarrassed_! Oh this was fabulous.

A loud thud and a clatter resounded from the hallway and the great Adam Klaus came bursting into his dressing room, all while Jonathan was still mopping and I was inspecting. Yep, this was a good day.

"Jonathan! What is – this?" He saw me and his tone completely changed. I wanted to slam my head against the dressing table. That probably wouldn't have helped my, already bad, head wound but it would have made me feel better, momentarily.

"Adam –" Jonathan didn't sound too excited about introducing me at the moment, "This is Genny. There was an accident in the tube on my way here and I told her she could come here to recover."

"Of course," He came over and sat down in a chair next to me, taking my hand and giving me the willies, "my dressing room is your dressing room, darling."

I looked at him for a second, forcing him to rethink taking my hand, and then abruptly stood up. Jonathan fumbled backwards and stared at me, shock written all over his, 'I-hardly-ever-smile', face.

"As nice as that is, I'm sure there's another room I can use. Like a broom closet. I'd feel more comfortable in a broom closet." I grabbed my jacket and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind me and pausing on the other side with that look, the one that can only be described as the cat that just ate the mouse look, on my face.

I could hear Jonathan from the other side of the door, "Laying it on a bit thick, weren't you?"

"What? I didn't say anything I wouldn't have said to anyone else. Some women just can't take it, Jonathan." I could practically see the disgusted look on Jonathan's face. I hadn't known him that long but his facial expressions didn't really vary much.

"She has a concussion! Have you really sunk that low?" I heard the doorknob start to turn and I hightailed it down the hallway at a fast clip. I had to look offended and I had to be at least halfway down the hallway by the time he caught up.

I heard the thump of his footsteps behind me, it was cute, really, "Genny! Wait! Don't go!"

I'm telling you, it was cute. And I would have acted like it was cute if I wasn't supposed to be offended. Instead, I stopped just before reaching the outside air and turned around on him. Halfway scowling was all I could manage.

"Why not? I'm not staying so Mr. Sexist can tear me to bits, that's for sure. I don't live that far from here anyway." I stopped scowling up at him and relaxed, he had been really nice and I wanted to say at least one genuine thing to him before I left, "Look, I really appreciate everything you've done for me. I owe you – a lot."

He thought for a minute and then he relaxed too, maybe he was going to let me go. Wait, no. Instead, he looked desperate for a minute, "Don't go anywhere. Back in a second."

He turned on his heel and went down the hall and turned down another corridor I hadn't even noticed. He was back in a flash though and writing something down on a piece of paper. He put the pen back in his pocket and smiled at me, giving me the number.

"Here." I took it and looked down at it for a minute, "My phone number. So you can repay me for saving you."

I folded it and put it into my pocket, looking back up at him and smiling again, "Thanks again."

He handed me my backpack and went back to frowning again. Maybe he _did_ have an aversion to smiling, "You'll call?"

For the first time that day, I finally got to laugh when I wanted to. He looked down at me in confusion and I grinned, "Why wouldn't I call? You seem like a nice enough guy, right? No skeletons?"

"Well, not metaphorically."

That was what I'd wanted to hear, I think.

I'm sure.


	4. Four

A/N: Sure wish people read this. Sigh Review please!!

Disclaimer: I don't own Jonathan Creek or the theatre his magic is performed in. I do own Genevieve Marston, her fish Harry, her aunt Rebecca, and her acquaintance Adrienne.

* * *

"…and that's about it really. It was a fantastic thrill." Harry didn't seem as excited about my adventures as I was. Maybe a dog would have been more excited. I'm sure a boyfriend would have shown the same amount of enthusiasm as my fish was now. Possibly less, since I was recounting my events with Jonathan that day.

I had spent the rest of the afternoon writing up a report and calling Martin. It really wasn't interesting. He'd told me to stay home and sleep of the concussion, which I told him was probably a bad idea. I thanked God he wasn't my father and hung up, only to be greeted by a surprise call from my aunt Rebecca.

"You said _what_ happened today?" She'd gotten me to admit the incident within five minutes of badgering me with that thick southern accent of hers. That's what surrogate mothers did, I guess. At least, the badgering part.

"I'm fine, Rebecca. I just need a couple of Tylenol and some orange juice." I rubbed the bridge of my nose and wondered what she'd do if I pretended to be going through a tunnel.

"You should be in the hospital! Why, if I weren't in Texas, I'd take you there myself!" My aunt Rebecca was one of _those_ women. The ones who constantly doted on the younger generation. It really did start to annoy a person after a while.

"Listen, I would love to catch up right now, but I really have to go. Can we do this some other time?" Jonathan Creek's phone number was sitting on my kitchen counter and I picked it up, studying the block script. Very manly.

"Of course, I never think of the time difference. I just wanted to see how you were. I love you Genny." She sounded a little rattled, suddenly. Like she was worried she wasn't going to talk to me for a long time.

"Aunt Rebecca? Is there something – " I didn't bother finishing my sentence as the sharp buzzing of the dial tone came across to meet me. She'd hung up, as if I'd hurt her feelings. Something was definitely going on. But I wasn't going to get any information by calling back and hounding her.

I dropped the phone back into it's cradle and stuck the slip of paper with Jonathan's phone number back into his file. I didn't have anything to do tonight and the evening was looking more bleak by the second. My life really needed spicing up. People used to shoot at me, for goodness sakes! What happened to the excitement?

I flipped on the news and turned it down, settling down on the couch with leftover Chinese food grabbed from the fridge and letting the images on the television go straight over my head. I didn't focus on it, instead focusing on the steady throbbing pain in my right shoulder. Nothing very exciting caught my attention, anyway, until I heard a name I recognized.

"…Adam Klaus." I gagged on a piece of beef and broccoli, coughing spastically and searching for the remote. I pushed the up button on the volume until it was so loud that I was sure my neighbours were making rude comments about my supposed deafness.

They were talking about his show and some great trick he was supposed to be performing tonight. He was going to do some death defying thing that just everyone had to see. The newscaster said that if you missed it, you were definitely missing out.

I looked at my watch and then glanced over at the nearly empty container of beef and broccoli. I could use a night out and dinner and a show wouldn't be a bad way to spend it, even if I were alone. Plus, I could write off the expense as research. It sounded like a plan to me.

The show was at seven o'clock and it was five now. I'd have to shower and change if I was going to look anywhere near presentable. I probably still had blood in my hair and I didn't want to look like I'd just been dragged out of the dark ages. Not only would the whole of London shun me, Jonathan wouldn't be friends with me and I wouldn't get paid. That just wouldn't do.

After an hour of getting ready, I looked much better than I had that morning. I showered, fixed my hair, put on make-up, and changed my outfit. I didn't know if I was supposed to dress up or not but, since dressing up was one thing I avoided almost as much as exercising, I wore a nice pair of jeans and a top. I was sure I'd get stares if the attire was not casual but who cared anyway? It wasn't as though I was trying to impress everyone.

I piled everything I could into a small purse and I was out the door and in a cab before I could catch my breath. Once I reached the theatre – and paid the cabbie, of course – I was surprised to see how many people were there. I hadn't thought about it, but magic really wasn't a popular thing where I was from. No one really gave it a second thought and they definitely didn't pay to go see someone else perform it like this. At least, not the people I hung around with.

The foyer of the theatre was laid out nicely. I hadn't seen this part when I'd been brought here earlier in the day and I stopped to look around before buying my ticket at the booth just inside the door. It wasn't the biggest theatre in London but it wasn't the smallest either. It was definitely upscale.

"Excuse me." A couple shoved past me with surprising force and nearly knocked me off my feet. The lights dimmed a couple of times, signalling that the show was about to begin, and more people began to shove me around. It was as if they didn't even know I was there. I started to shove them back, in an effort to get to the doors and to my seat. This was outrageous! Finally, I made it inside and got some breathing room. Until the man in the seat next to me sat down. He must have been about a thousand pounds and made of pure lard. How could this day get any worse? A smaller woman sat down on my right and I thanked the lord for the relief.

The show began and immediately I was, at least mildly, impressed. I never really understood magic. Or, at least, I never understood the hold it had over people. Magic captivated people and they paid a lot of money to see complete losers pretend to do it on stages. In fact, Adam didn't have any idea how any of the tricks he was doing worked. Knowing that, I think, took some of the glamour out of the show. However, knowing that the man who did come up with these tricks that captivated so many people had blotted at my head wound only this morning gave me butterflies – or was that indigestion?

After the show, the audience moved back out into the foyer where they were serving champagne and other such beverages. I grabbed a glass of champagne and headed for the wall, leaning against it and watching the people. They were in various states of dress – or undress – so I figured I was okay as far as attire went. I blended in alright, which I was thankful for. I didn't necessarily want Jonathan coming up to me if he saw me around. Twice in one day might make him suspicious.

"Genevieve Marston? Is that you?" I definitely didn't want to know who that was. Nine times out of ten, when they say something like, 'is that you?' then it's bad news. It's best to just walk away and pretend you aren't the person they think you are, whether you are or not.

Unfortunately, I did turn around and I recognized this person off the bat, "Adrienne. How nice to see you." That last part was sarcastic but I was trying. I deserved points for trying.

"I know! I haven't seen you in ages. I thought you were with the Times. What happened there?" She set her glass down and pulled me into one of those sissy girl hugs where they pretend to kiss you on both cheeks but really they stop three inches from your face. What does that mean? Is she afraid I have the plague?

"Oh, there was a falling out. I wanted to get out of there anyway. I thought I'd come here. See what England was like. I had no idea you were here." Adrienne Beckett was English, of course she'd be in England. I'd met her in New York but that didn't really mean anything.

She looked over my shoulder and made a face, "Oh, here comes Jack, my fiancée." She dug around in her giant bag and pulled out a card, shoving it at me, "Here, ring me sometime. We absolutely have to do lunch. We need to catch up. I work for Eve magazine now. It's wonderful."

Jack stepped up just about that time and started to pull her away. He didn't even ask for an introduction, just pulled her towards wealthier looking people.

"Oh, I'll talk to you soon Genny! Good seeing you!" She was dragged off by Jack and my attention was diverted to the door by the two imposing figures. I knew those imposing figures.

I set my glass down and backed away, trying to mask myself behind people and still trying to inspect the men who had just walked into the theatre. Either, I was seeing things and needed to be carted to the nearest loonie bin, or, the two guys who had tried to kidnap me had just walked into the theatre I was standing in and were blocking my nearest exit.

But it wasn't my only exit.

I kept backing away, keeping my eye on the front door and the two men who were now moving slowly towards me and trying to watch where I was going. I went through the closest door I could find, the door back into the theatre.

I shut the door behind me and stared at it, trying to glue it shut with my glare. Slowly, I pivoted and tried to figure out how I was going to get out of here without running into Jonathan or Adam. This was going to be quite a trick.

Ninety degrees around and my heel caught on the carpet and I went flying forward, falling on my face and yelping loudly enough to let everyone and their mother know where I was. I caught myself on my hands but was embarrassed enough to cry right there, so I did. I broke down right there, in the middle of the theatre. I pushed myself into a sitting position and cried my heart out.

I felt sorry for myself, because no one else felt sorry for me. I had a concussion and I'd had a generally awful day and now I'd just tripped and fallen and it was just embarrassing, even if no one saw it.

"Genny?"

Shit.

"Genny! Are you okay? What's happened?" Jonathan came up the aisle at a trot and knelt down in front of me. Little 'ole tear streaked me.

I wiped my face roughly and sniffled, "I'm fine. Sorry. I know this is awkward."

"Well, maybe a little." He sat down next to me and leaned against a seat, "Let me guess, you saw someone outside that you know and you're trying to get out of talking to them?"

I looked over at him and was surprised to see the understanding underneath the calculating look he was giving me, "Yeah, something like that." I wiped my tears again and self-consciously wiped my nose. I hoped there wasn't anything hanging out. God, that would be embarrassing. Just what I needed, more embarrassment.

"Well, did you like the show, then?" He avoided eye contact for a minute and instead looked up towards the stage, where a box from one of the acts was sitting.

"Sure, it was good. The actor was worthless but the tricks were great." I smiled at him and he looked at me. I could see the hopefulness in his eyes and that made me smile bigger. The indigestion was coming back.

"Thanks." He looked over at me again and took a second to study me. I felt myself turning red under the scrutiny. "Listen, don't think this is odd or anything, but I'm no good with women and social cues. Do you want to come and get a bite with me? We'll talk."

He stood up and held down his hand to me. What was I supposed to say? No? The guy basically just asked me out on a date. He was cute and smart and he'd saved my life. I probably owed him a date.

"Okay, sure." I took his hand and stood up. He started to lead the way out the front door and I stopped him, "Let's go out the back." He looked at me like I was nuts again, "Just, trust me." I tried to smile and he just shrugged and led the way towards the back door.


	5. Five

A/N: Sorry for the delay but I don't think it will matter as there is no one reading this. Not entirely sure there are ANY JC fans on . If you're there... please review!!

Disclaimer: I own Genny, those creepy guys, and a really awesome imagination. Thanks for reading!

* * *

My pasta was getting cold but I was too nervous to eat it. I just kept nudging it around with my fork and hoping it would disappear on it's own. Unfortunately, food doesn't just disappear when asked. Not even when you ask nicely.

Jonathan wasn't eating much either. He didn't even pretend to eat. Mostly, I'd try to make small talk and he'd try to respond and fail miserably. I vaguely remembered telling Martin I thought it would be fun to date this guy. Boy, was I wrong.

"So, who were you running from earlier?" He had mostly just given me one word answers to questions since we'd arrived at the restaurant. I was shocked when he actually asked me something.

I had taken a drink of water and had to swallow first. I made a sort of blubbering noise and coughed, "What? Sorry."

"At the theatre. You wanted to go out the back door. Why?" He looked honestly curious. It was a personal question, I thought. Then again, maybe it wasn't. I had to make something up, quick.

"Oh, just an old friend I didn't want to see. Trust me, you didn't want to see her either." I tried to laugh it off and instead got stuck with that odd blubbering noise again.

He pretended to smile and nodded, seeming okay with the answer I gave. I took a bite of fettucini, smiling in return. Three silent minutes passed with me chewing and swallowing and him studying me chewing and swallowing. I couldn't figure out what was so interesting about it, really.

"Normally, I'd let that go except you looked scared when I tried to walk out the front doors. I'm guessing it was something much worse than on old friend you didn't want to get stuck in a conversation with." Damn it, I forgot he was the smart one. Why couldn't I have agreed to a date with Adam Klaus or something? At least he wouldn't have seen right through me.

I tried to shrug it off, "Something like that. It's no big deal, really. We lost them."

"Who are you?" He leaned in closer, as if we were about to have some intimate conversation that I definitely didn't want to have, and gave me a very serious look.

"What do you mean, 'who am I'? I told you, I'm Genny Marston. I'm a writer. I'm originally from Kansas. I enjoy long walks in the park and I like fish. What do you want me to say?" I leaned back, trying to take the intimacy out of the situation. This was getting very uncomfortable, very fast.

"Well, clearly you aren't just any old American writer who likes walking and aquariums. You have people after you, so that must mean you've done something to make someone angry." I could almost see the wheels cranking in his head. It was a sight to behold. I could understand why people wanted him to solve their mysteries. However, I didn't want him trying to solve any of mine.

"Why are you suddenly so interested in me, huh? I mean, I'm okay if you want to just, get to know each other; like, be friends or something. As for my problems, you can stay away from those, thank you very much." I took my napkin out of my lap and threw it on top of the table, to emphasize my emotion. I really wanted to get the mood across.

The look on his face showed me that I'd gotten it across alright, "Genny, if you're in danger, you need to get help. I might be able to help you."

"Look," I was hissing at him now, literally, hissing, "I'm safe here. That's why I left New York in the first place. I am _not_ in any danger. Got it?"

I got up and walked out before he could say anything. I didn't even see the look on his face. I was so upset, I didn't want to hear him tell me that I should call the police or call my mom or run away to another country. I was tired of doing those things.

I found myself on a bench just outside the restaurant, moping, with nowhere to go but home on a Friday evening. It was chilly for the November that it was and I had my arms crossed, trying to hold in all the body heat I could.

For five minutes, there was no sight of Jonathan or anyone else out of the tiny Italian restaurant. I assumed he was paying the bill. Maybe he was being a total ass and finishing his dinner. Would he do that? Would he leave me out in the cold or would he come after me like a real gentleman? He did say he was bad with women. A couple more minutes passed and I started to wonder.

Chivalry prevailed, however, and Mr. Duffle coat himself finally came wandering out, a doggie bag in his hand and an upset look on his face. He saw me right away but didn't come running over. The look in his eyes said something like, 'I really don't want to get my head bitten off again so I'm going to keep my distance until you give me the go ahead.' However, I could have been wrong. There was quite a distance between us.

I scooted over on the bench and he came over, sitting down next to me and putting the bag between us, "I got them to box up your pasta. In case you want it later." He didn't look at me and I didn't look at him. I felt bad for yelling at him earlier. He was only concerned, after all.

I shrugged in nonchalance and smiled towards him, "Thanks."

We sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the taxis and cars go by and letting the world drive by. Maybe that was something we had in common. Neither of us really cared how fast everyone else was moving, we both moved at our own speeds.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you." I was speaking to the pavement more than Jonathan and he didn't hear me at first.

"Sorry?" He looked over at my huddled figure and he must have realized how cold I was because he immediately started taking off his coat, "Here, take my coat. I didn't realize how cold it was."

"Oh, sure. Make me feel more guilty." I turned on the sarcasm as he draped the coat over my shoulders.

"What?" He paused, his hands still on my shoulders, and looked down at me confusedly.

I put my hands into the arms of his coat and pushed them through, forcing him to let go of my shoulders, "I'm sorry about what I said earlier, okay." I was apologizing a bit forcefully and at this point, it didn't really sound honest anymore but all this chivalry was making me look pretty bland in comparison.

"Doesn't really sound like it." He didn't sound angry, just amused. Was he trying to upset me again?

I sighed loudly and tried to calm my temper down. It wasn't going to do me any good to get angry again. Twenty seconds of silence and I thought I was ready to speak again.

"Look, I'm sorry. I'm just not used to people worrying about me. I don't really have a lot of people on my side." I looked over at him and smiled, but there was a lot of sadness behind it. I felt sorry for the poor guy.

"I appreciate you worrying about me and all but you really don't want to get caught up in this. It's best if you just go back to your windmill and leave it alone." I crossed my arms again and pushed my nose down into his coat, trying to warm it up.

"How can you expect me to just go home and – hang on." He looked down at me and I looked up at him, pulling my nose out of the cocoon I'd made for it.

"What?" My nose was cold and I desperately wanted to put it back into his coat but the look on his face kept me looking at him.

"How did you know I that I live in a windmill?" Not only did he look confused, he started to get that betrayed look that wasn't foreign to me. I'd seen that look before.

I fumbled for an excuse, something that would sound formidable, something that would make him believe me, "I, um – I read the books, of course."

He looked down at me and I covered my face with the sleeve of his coat again, trying to cover the exasperation that didn't seem to go away, "That's the second time you've lied to me, and poorly."

Oh, you have got to be kidding me. My head shot up and I thought my eyebrows were going to fly off my forehead. How good was this guy?

"It wasn't hard, Genny. You told me you hadn't read the books while we were walking from the tube station to the theatre. Remember?" Oh, shit. He was right. How could I have forgotten that? It seemed like I forgot everything when I was around this guy. I was going to have to either stop lying to him all together or be a lot more careful.

I sighed and looked down at the ground, trying to formulate some sort of an explanation, "I'm going to make a wild guess and say it's been more than two lies." He looked at his watch and then down at me, "I've known you for one day and you're probably not the person I think I know at all. Time's getting on, anyway. We should get you home."

I looked up at him, scowling, "_We_? _We _don't need to get me anywhere. _I_ can get me there just fine."

"I'm pretty sure those men after you weren't a lie. Unless they're some elaborate scheme." He stood up and held out his hand to me, "Come on, we'll take a cab."

"They're real." I took his hand and stood up, starting to take off his coat.

He put one hand on my arm to stop me and used the other to hail the cab, absently speaking over his shoulder, "Keep it for now. At least until we get to your flat."

I pulled the coat back up and stood next to him as the taxi pulled up, getting in and giving the driver my address, finally able to speak to Jonathan again, "So you're going to escort me home? Even though you know I've lied to you?"

He shrugged and raised his eyebrows at me, "Should I be worried?"

I shook my head and looked out the window at the passing lights, "Probably not. I'm not the person you should be scared of."

He looked down at me, worried, "Who should I be scared of?"

I didn't respond and he kept looking at me until the cabbie stopped the car in front of my flat. I opened the door and stepped out, looking up at the looming façade of my building and trying to run away from the man behind me who seemed to want to burrow his way into my complicated web of a life.

It didn't make any sense to me. I was supposed to be burrowing into _his_ life, not the other way around. There was more to him than met the eye, I thought, and as he leaned down to tell the cabbie to wait for him, I wondered what was motivating him to stick by my so unquestioningly.

He walked me up to the door and I handed him his coat there, "Well, thanks for dinner and that. Sorry it was so…you know."

He smiled in an embarrassed sort of way and took his coat, "No worries."

The most awkward moment of my life happened right then. He stood there, rocking back and forth on his heels and looking around in an equally awkward manner. I had to search my brain for any trace of what normal people said or did on these occasions. Was I supposed to kiss him or something. Oh lord, I wasn't supposed to invite him in or anything, was I?

"You'll keep in touch, won't you?" He looked sort of sheepish, like he thought I'd never speak to him again or something.

"Sure I will." I pulled out my keys and he took two steps backwards, at least he was getting the message, "I'll talk to you soon, I'm sure."

He turned to go and I just barely heard him say one last thing, "You have to let someone in at some point."

He was probably right but who said it had to be him I let in?


	6. Six

A/N: A bit of backstory for the masses. Here is your reason for Genny's leaving New York.

Disclaimer: I own Genny, Michael Gibson, and no diamonds what-so-ever.

* * *

The next morning, I woke up with a one pound block of cold dread settled in my stomach. I couldn't figure out where the feeling was coming from but my reporter's intuition was telling me it wasn't good. I didn't get out of bed for a good twenty minutes. Instead, I just laid there and tried to melt the block of ice in my abdomen.

Last night, when I got home and settled, after the most embarrassing adventure of my life, I'd decided I was going to do some fieldwork today. I needed to figure out who the guys that kept showing up around me were. There were more options than I wanted to consider. It wasn't that I went about asking for trouble; the trouble just sort of found me.

Fieldwork, at least at this stage, consisted of calling my old acquaintances to see if anything had come up. The first person I thought to call was my old partner in New York. He'd been right beside me when I'd almost been shot, twice. He was there when I was told to move to London too. If this problem had anything to do with what had happened in New York nearly a year ago, Max would know.

I sat down on the couch with a strong cup of black coffee, a knot in my throat, and my old address book in my hands. I hadn't spoken to any of these people since I'd left. The police, and my boss, had told me it would be a better idea to just let things cool off for a while. So I did as I was told and left my old life behind.

The whole problem had started about two years ago, all because I was so interested in the old Hell's Kitchen neighborhood and the gang that resided there. Alright, so gang is a little bit of an understatement; more like the mob. I'd always thought about myself as less of a reporter and more of an investigator. I was thrilled when I received the title of "investigative reporter", in fact. Anyway, I wasn't at all afraid to do a little dirty work and mosey into the neighborhood myself, uninvited as I was.

Back then, you could still find people who called the place "Hell's Kitchen", though it was renamed to Clinton by then. Clinton made it sound cozy and suburban, but the reputation remained. However, people were starting to let their guard down. The Westies, the part of the Irish Mob who ran the place, had all but disappeared and, though people were still getting shot, the mob boss was gone.

Bosco "The Yugo" something or other, was the old boss back then. Still is, probably, though he's been arrested now. Part of that is thanks to me, but my name won't be cropping up anywhere in that story. At least, not the name the British know me by. My own family isn't allowed to call me by that name anymore, though I don't have enough family to have to worry about that. Not as though I have a worried mother calling me at all hours.

Anyway, back to Bosco and his gang. In the nineties, the Irish-Americans were being pushed out of the neighborhood by the African-Americans and the Hispanics. No one really had a problem with that, except for the Westies. Of course they'd have a problem, they're the mob. The mob _always_ has a problem. The Westies were still stealing all manner of things and they were enlisting the aid of anyone they could convince to help; African-Americans and Hispanics included.

I came in after a lot of money and a lot of rocks went missing. Not just any money, Michael Gibson's money. Mr. Gibson was the richest man in New York – possibly the western hemisphere – at the time and he had anyone and everyone he could find working on his case. The cops and I didn't know that it was all just a set up. While we were busy looking for magic money, they were off doing bigger things. You know, murder and that.

The major problem lies in the rocks I found that I wasn't supposed to find. Not your average rocks, of course. I'm sure Mr. Gibson wouldn't care if I took some pieces of sandstone off his front lawn. These were diamonds – blood diamonds if you're interested – and I found them by accident, of course.

I turned them over to the authorities, absolutely. After all, I was already getting a huge chunk of change for uncovering that Michael Gibson was a member of the Irish Mob and that Bosco was still in New York. Nothing much came out of the court cases but I had my money and I was happy. At least, until people started showing up at my apartment with guns and angry looks on their faces. What they were angry about, I didn't really know. Honestly, I didn't really care. I just wanted them off my doorstep and in a jail cell.

I couldn't shake them, the cops couldn't find them, and even if they could they couldn't charge them with anything because it was all hearsay anyway. I was up the river without a paddle and I needed a quick way out. So, I got a new name, a new social security number, a new lease on life, and an apartment an ocean away from New York.

If this really was the Westies – if Bosco "The Yugo" has come back to haunt me – lets just say, things were going to get complicated.

My phone rang sometime between my reminiscences and I looked down at it, thinking how odd it would be if Max were calling me. It wasn't Max though, and something about that comforted me.

"Genny, is this a bad time?" He sounded a little flustered and a lot nervous and I thought that was probably normal for him.

"No, it's alright, Jonathan. I was just doing some research for work. What's going on?" I put on my nice girl voice and tried to care about what he was saying.

"There's something going on here that I think you'd be interested to know about." Okay, now I cared. How would he know what I was interested in?

"Oh, really?" I didn't have to try to sound intrigued this time. I honestly was.

"Yes, there are some people here asking about you. They look rather familiar. They don't seem to know your name though." He paused, as if he was waiting for a response, and then said, rather hurriedly, "Oh, I have to go. Is it alright if I stop by tonight?"

I couldn't imagine why he would want to get his nose stuck in this nasty business, couldn't he tell that this was out of control already?

"Yeah, alright. I'll be here. What time?"

"About nine or so. We have a show tonight but I should be able to dash out just after." I heard him cover the mouthpiece and say something to someone rather angrily but I couldn't understand it, "Got to go. See you tonight."

He hung up before I could say bye and I was left wondering who those men down there were. It certainly couldn't be good.


End file.
